


Sweet Nothings

by Sauronix



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gladiogazing, M/M, Pining, Schmoop, Sibling Banter, unapologetic fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 05:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16443770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauronix/pseuds/Sauronix
Summary: "Gladdy, I think Ignis likes you."Gladio looks up from his book to find his sister leaning over the back of the couch where he’s sprawled out, her chin resting on her folded arms and her wide eyes peering down at him seriously, like they’re about to discuss world peace."You think Ignis what?" he says."Likes you," she replies. "You know...like,like-likesyou."Written for a prompt on the kinkmeme in which Ignis pines for Gladio and bakes him treats.





	Sweet Nothings

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the following prompt on the kinkmeme: 
> 
> _I can't get the image out of my head of them alone in the training room, Ignis doing yoga as he works out next to him, peering longingly from under his lashes as [Gladio's] big sweaty muscles flex... Baking him sweets and hearty meals because "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach" and maybe even leaving him anonymous love letters?? Which melts Gladio's romance novel obsessed self._
> 
> Thanks for reading!

"Gladdy, I think Ignis likes you."  
  
Gladio looks up from his book to find his sister leaning over the back of the couch where he’s sprawled out, her chin resting on her folded arms and her wide eyes peering down at him seriously, like they’re about to discuss world peace. He was so engrossed in his book that he didn't hear her approach. It takes him a couple of seconds to register her sudden appearance, then another few to digest what she said.  
  
"You think Ignis what?" he says.  
  
"Likes you," she replies. "You know...like, _like-likes_ you."  
  
He laughs. “You’re kidding, right?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“We’re just friends.”  
  
"Then why did he bake you cookies?"  
  
Gladio sighs. Figures she’d read too much into that. Ignis ambushed him tonight in the parking lot at the Citadel with a tin of them, three dozen peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, and stammered something about underestimating the yield of the recipe. Gladio ate one in the car before peeling out, and couldn't help moaning as it melted in his mouth. It was so good he hadn't been able to resist scarfing down another six during the drive home.  
  
"Dunno." He shrugs, looking pointedly back at his book in the hope she’ll go away. "He said something about baking too many. You're overthinking this, kiddo."  
  
"Oh really?" She marches around the couch and sits on the other end of it, pushing his feet away to make room. "What about the cupcakes you brought home last week? The liners had hearts on them, Gladdy. _Hearts_."  
  
Gladio shrugs again. "Maybe those were the only ones he had left in his cupboard."  
  
"There were candy hearts sprinkled on the icing too!"  
  
"Yeah? I didn't notice. I ate 'em too fast."  
  
"Ugh!" Iris makes a frustrated noise and flops bonelessly against the back of the couch, looking at him like he’s lower than the lowliest pond scum. "You can be so dumb sometimes, Gladdy."  
  
Okay, he’d be lying if he said he’s never daydreamed about him and Ignis together. He’s done it a lot. But the idea that Ignis might actually be interested in him is kinda laughable. For one thing, even though Ignis is the closest thing he has to a best friend, they’re different kinds of people. Gladio’s smart, but Ignis is a genius. Mentally, no one can keep up with him. He’s the kind of person who'd get bored of someone like Gladio real quick in a relationship. If Gladio knows it, then Ignis damn well does too.  
  
As much as Gladio wishes otherwise, the cookies and cupcakes are just friendly gestures. Ignis bakes a lot, mostly for Noct’s benefit. All the food Ignis has been giving him lately is probably just leftovers.  
  
"Okay, how about that time he brought you homemade noodle soup when you were sick?" Iris says. "No one does that for someone they only think of as a friend."  
  
Gladio puts his book down with a frustrated sigh. “Look, just drop it, Iris, okay?"  
  
Huffing, she bounces off the couch. "Fine. But I'm soooooo gonna say 'I told you so' when it turns out he's madly in love with you.”

  
*

  
The meaty smack of a fist hitting a punching bag reverberates through the gymnasium. Ignis opens his eyes, and without breaking the calm of his lotus pose, he allows himself a glance at the source of the sound—Gladiolus Amicitia, Shield-in-waiting, and the object of his everlasting affection.  
  
Today Gladio has chosen to wear a pair of dark grey compression tights that hug the sculpted muscles of his thighs and rear end. His shirt, as usual, is nowhere to be found. Sweat trickles in rivulets between his shoulder blades and gathers in the dip of his lower back, glistening under the fluorescent lights. It dampens his hair, making him look as if he's just come out of the shower, or in from the rain. Ignis can hardly take his eyes off him. If there is a more attractive man on Eos, Ignis has yet to meet him, and he doubts he ever will.  
  
There’s more to his attraction than just Gladio's appearance, of course. It’s also about the warmth and humour in his golden eyes, and the thoughtful way he converses on topics of history and politics, and the infectiousness of his laugh. It’s in the way he makes Ignis feel like the most interesting person in the world whenever they speak. Gladio connects with people on a level Ignis can't always understand, and that, perhaps, is what Ignis loves about him the most.  
  
But he also loves Gladio’s raw physicality. Despite his size, Gladio moves with the grace of a large cat, the muscles in his torso rippling as he aims a roundhouse kick at the punching bag. His power and control are breathtaking to behold. Ignis has often wondered how it would feel to be the recipient of both, only in a far more amorous context. Now, as he watches Gladio train, he can't help but let his mind wander, conjuring images of his hands running over Gladio's firm chest and...  
  
"Iggy?"  
  
Ignis snaps back to himself, flushing when he realizes Gladio is looking at him. He glances away, fumbling with his glasses, pretending he hasn't just been staring at Gladio with his mouth hanging open.  
  
"Yes?" he manages to say, despite his heart trying to gallop up his throat.  
  
"I said I really liked the cookies you gave me yesterday." Gladio strides over to the window sill to pick up his towel, which he uses to wipe the sweat off his face. "Iris liked 'em too. Wish I could say the same about my dad, but they were all gone by the time he got home."  
  
"Oh," Ignis says, brightening considerably. "I was happy to share."  
  
Gladio slings the towel around his neck, his glorious biceps flexing as he grabs one end in each hand. "If you ever make too many again, I'd be happy to take 'em off your hands."  
  
Ignis smiles at his innocence, because he baked the cookies specifically to give to Gladio. If there is one thing he knows about Gladio, it’s that the man likes to eat, and he would exploit that knowledge until Gladio came to his senses and realized the treats Ignis bakes for him are an expression of his love. Though in truth, Ignis is beginning to grow tired of waiting. For all his intelligence, Gladio can be terribly oblivious sometimes.  
  
Well, Ignis has already bookmarked a recipe for macarons. Perhaps he’ll whip those up tonight and give them to Gladio before drills tomorrow morning.  
  
"I'll keep that in mind," he says.   
  
“Thanks, Iggy.” Gladio shoots him another brilliant smile, grabbing his water bottle and beginning to pad toward the locker room. “I ever tell you you’re the best?”  
  
“Not nearly as much as I’d like,” Ignis murmurs, longingly watching the muscles flex in Gladio's chiseled, retreating posterior.  
  


*

  
Ignis runs a hand through his hair and blows out an exasperated sigh. It’s nearly midnight and his words are beginning to fail him. He sits in the middle of his living room, surrounded by a dozen balls of crumpled paper: the detritus of his failed efforts to put his feelings for Gladio down in writing. Nothing he’s penned thus far sounds sincere, and he’s tried everything. He consulted his books of poetry, trawled Moogle for the lyrics of schmaltzy love songs, and even skimmed the Wanderer’s love letters to his queen for inspiration.  
  
It’s an impossible situation. There is no way someone as well-read as Gladio would be impressed by Ignis's fumbling attempts to woo him through verse. Ignis takes off his glasses and tosses them on the coffee table, rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes as he leans back against the couch. He thought the cookies and cakes he baked would be enough to indicate his affections to Gladio, but no. The man persists in his naiveté. It would be frustrating if it wasn’t so wholly endearing.   
  
Stating his feelings to Gladio’s face is out of the question. Ignis is hardly timorous, but the idea of putting himself out there and actually seeing Gladio’s reaction makes him feel queasy. Rejection would be crushing. It could have ramifications for their professional lives. A note is safer. If Gladio doesn’t return his sentiments, then at least he could pretend he never saw the message and spare Ignis's pride.  
  
Tonight, Ignis has made a batch of twelve vanilla and lavender macarons, each perfectly formed, with the intent of placing his confession of love into the box for Gladio to find. It isn’t his best idea; in fact, chances are good it will lead to disaster. But at this point, he has only two choices: admit his longing for Gladio, or be driven mad by it. And madness is simply not an option.  
  
He picks up his pen again and retrieves another sheet of stationery from the stack on the table. The poems and love songs have failed him, so he might as well just speak from the heart. _Gladio_ , he begins, pausing as he considers what to say next. _You are often on my mind, and in my most indulgent daydreams, I entertain the hope that you think about me, too. Knowing you as well as I do, I am certain you’ll interpret this note as a platonic declaration of my regard for you, so allow me be clear: I have never seen a colour more beautiful than the sunset of your eyes._  
  
Satisfied, Ignis sets down his pen. It isn't the most sophisticated of love letters, but he’s relatively assured it will do the trick. He folds the sheet of paper carefully and tapes it to the inside lid of the box, where Gladio can’t miss it once he opens it. As a matter of routine, Gladio goes to the gym before dawn on Thursdays, so Ignis will stop by the Amicitia house on the way to work tomorrow morning and give it to Jared, whom he knows would not open the box… nor, more importantly, allow anyone else to open it before it found its way into Gladio’s hands.   
  
And now, all Ignis has to do is wait.

  
*

  
It was a mistake.  
  
An appalling error.  
  
Sweating, Ignis tugs at the starched collar of his shirt and glances at the time on his laptop. It’s a quarter to one—nearly six hours since he handed the box of macarons off to Jared, the note that could irreparably alter his life tucked inside, like a land mine waiting for a footfall. There is no way Gladio could have seen it yet, but that hasn’t stopped Ignis from tying himself up in knots for the better part of the morning, imagining all the ways Gladio might respond to his letter. What if Gladio doesn’t want his affection? What possessed him to throw caution to the wind and bare his heart like that?  
  
Perhaps he could call Jared, tell him the eggs he used to bake the macarons were expired, and ask him to throw out the box before Gladio gets home. He bites his lip, then picks up his phone, quickly dialing the number for the Amicitia residence. It rings and rings and rings, before the answering machine clicks in and Jared’s dignified voice invites him to leave a message. Ignis hangs up; there’s no point in doing that. Jared might not check the message, or worse, Gladio might hear it and go to the trash bin to investigate. He’ll call again this afternoon, instead.  
  
His stomach growls, and he realizes he hasn’t eaten anything since his coffee and hard-boiled egg this morning. A sandwich from the cafe around the block would be just the thing. Closing his laptop, he retrieves his wallet from his top drawer and slips it into the pocket of his slacks, leaving the sanctuary of his office for the hustle and bustle of the Citadel’s halls.  
  
As he’s rounding the corner to the elevators, his head bowed to read an email he’s just received, he walks directly into something large and solid. “Oof,” it says, and Ignis's profuse apologies die on his lips as he looks up to find himself face to face with Gladio. His pulse immediately starts racing, and he had to remind himself that Gladio hasn’t yet received the macarons or read his note. There is no need to panic.  
  
“Geez, Iggy, where are you off to in such a hurry?” Gladio asks, his voice warm with amusement.  
  
“Nowhere,” Ignis replies. He rubs his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. He can smell the intoxicating blend of Gladio’s sweat and aftershave, and it’s making it difficult to think straight. “Running some errands, that’s all. I should have looked where I was going. My apologies.”  
  
“No worries.”   
  
Gladio adjusts the strap of his gym bag on his shoulder, his eyes searching Ignis's face—but for what? What does that look mean? Damn the man, Ignis desires nothing more than to get away from him, to put a safe distance between them, while at the same time wanting to grab him by the front of his t-shirt and kiss him until he’s too weak to stand. For a wild second, he considers inviting Gladio to lunch, perhaps securing the cozy, secluded table at the back of the cafe, where they could share a plate of appetizers and tangle their fingers together on the tabletop—   
  
“Hey, think you could give me the recipe for those peanut butter cookies you made me the other day? Iris wants to try baking them herself.”  
  
Ignis blinks, his fantasy evaporating. “Yes, of course. I’ll send it to you when I get back to my office.”  
  
“Great.” Gladio grins, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re the best, Iggy. I’ll catch you later?”  
  
Ignis nods, swallowing his disappointment, and then Gladio is walking away, the scent of him lingering in Ignis's nostrils. It’s maddening. It’s impossible. He should try calling Jared again and remove all evidence of the macarons before Gladio ever lays eyes on them. But as he goes to dial the number, he hesitates. Was it his imagination, or did Gladio’s hand linger on his shoulder before they parted? He doesn’t think he imagined it. And the way Gladio looked at him with that inscrutable expression…   
  
Whether or not Gladio returns his affections, it would be better to have his feelings out in the open than to continue burying them, wouldn’t it? Then he could put an end to this matter once and for all, one way or another.  
  
After another moment of hesitation, he slips his phone into the inner pocket of his jacket and presses the call button for the elevator. 

  
*

  
Iris screeches at him from the kitchen the minute he steps through the front door, shaking the rain out of his hair.  
  
“Gladdy! Get in here! You _have_ to see this!”  
  
Expecting to find a massive spider that needs killing, Gladio pads into the kitchen and instead sees Iris sitting on a stool at the island, peering into an open box on the counter. The box, as he discovers, contains twelve purple and white macarons. They look professionally made, like someone bought them from a high-end bakery.  
  
“Did an admirer give you those?” he teases, turning to the fridge to get a beer.  
  
“Um, no. They’re for _you_ ,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
“Me?”  
  
“Jared said Ignis dropped them off this morning. And get this!” she says gleefully, shoving a folded piece of paper into his face as he turns around, cold beer in hand. “He wrote you a letter, Gladdy. You should read it.”  
  
Gladio takes the piece of paper. Why didn’t Ignis just give him the box at the Citadel? It doesn’t make sense. “Lemme guess. You read it already?”  
  
Shrugging, she gives him a smug smile. “Maybe.”  
  
Gladio unfolds the paper and scans Ignis's small, neat handwriting. _I have never seen a colour more beautiful than the sunset of your eyes_.  
  
Oh. Oh, shit.  
  
“I told you!” Iris gushes, spinning on the stool. “He likes you! He likes you!”  
  
Gladio leans heavily against the counter, reading the note again. His ears are ringing and his face feels hot. Length-wise, there ain’t much to the letter, but the handful of sentences it contains are the most romantic he’s ever read. _You are often on my mind, and in my most indulgent daydreams, I entertain the hope that you think about me, too_.  
  
Ignis likes him.  
  
Like… _like-likes_ him.  
  
“You’re gonna go tell him you like him back, right?” Iris asks. She plucks a purple macaron from the box and stuffs it in her mouth. “Seriously, Gladdy, if you mess this up and he stops baking things for you, I’m gonna be super mad.”  
  
“I, uh…” Absently, he folds the letter and slips it into his pocket. He feels like he’s having an out-of-body experience. Is this real? “I guess I should call him.”  
  
“Nuh-uh,” Iris says. She hops off the stool and places her hands on his back, pushing him toward the front hall. “You’re going over there. You can’t tell him you like him on the phone, Gladdy. He wrote you a love letter!”  
  
“Ain’t a call better than a letter?”  
  
“No way! A letter is super-duper old-timey romantic.” She opens the front door, letting in the sound of rain pounding down on the pavement. Then she shoves an umbrella into one hand and his car keys in the other. “What are you waiting for?”  
  
He doesn’t know. Even though Ignis made the first move, Gladio’s still intimidated by the idea of going over there to tell Ignis he feels the same. He doesn’t know what he’ll say when Ignis opens the door. He pictures himself standing on the doorstep, tongue-tied and fumbling like the least suave man on Eos, while Ignis looks at him with polite confusion. Admitting their feelings to each other is only step one. There are a whole lot more steps involved in starting a relationship, and there are a thousand ways to fuck each and every one of them up.   
  
“What if he’s not home?” Gladio says.  
  
Iris clicks the button on the fob, and the car doors unlock with an obedient beep. “Only one way to find out.” 

  
*

  
The rain drums against his window.  
  
Ignis sits on his couch with his chin in his hand, staring at his phone where it lies on the table. He expected Gladio to call by now, or at least send a text, but the device has been silent all afternoon and into the evening. His anxiety has begun to turn to disappointment. As much as he's reasoned with himself that he’d rather Gladio ignore the note than reject him outright, the opposite is true. He wants an answer, any answer at all, but the chances of receiving one seem more and more remote with every passing minute.  
  
Gladio is home already, of that Ignis is certain. He went to the gym this morning, meaning there is no reason for him to linger at the Citadel after hours, and Ignis knows Gladio would open the box the minute he laid eyes on it, if only to satisfy his curiosity about its contents.    
  
He should have called by now, and the fact that he hasn’t could mean only one thing: he does not share Ignis's sentiments, and moreover, does not wish to speak of them.  
  
Sighing, Ignis drags himself off the couch and pads into the kitchen to fetch himself another cup of coffee. At the very least, he could be productive and respond to the emails that have been slowly filling his inbox while he sat on the couch, twisting himself up in anxious knots over Gladio. He would take his mind off his heartache with work, as he always did.   
  
As he pours, a sharp knock sounds at the door. Ignis startles, nearly sloshing his coffee down the front of his shirt. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and as the building is owned by the crown, security doesn’t allow strange people onto the property. That means whoever is at his door has been here before, and often enough that security knows them. Only a handful of people have been to Ignis’s apartment—Noctis, Gladio, Iris, Prompto. His heart begins to beat faster. Dare he hope…?  
  
Another knock. Ignis sets his coffee cup down on the counter and goes to answer the door. He finds Gladio standing on the other side, his hair and jacket damp with rainwater. He wears a tight white t-shirt under the jacket, and through it, Ignis can see the outline of the bird’s head tattooed on his chest. For perhaps the first time ever, Gladio doesn’t greet him with his usual warm smile. Instead, there is a seriousness in his eyes, his usual confidence replaced by vulnerability.  
  
“Iggy,” he says, looking from Ignis's face to the room beyond, then again at Ignis's face. He licks his lips. “Mind if I come in?”   
  
Ignis stares at him dumbly, watching a droplet of water roll down his neck, and his heart thumps painfully in his chest. He isn’t prepared for this. Of all the ways he imagined this day to end, it wasn’t with Gladio standing on his doorstep, his hands in the pockets of his black jeans, looking as uncertain as Ignis feels. What would Gladio say? Would he tell Ignis he harbours the same affections, or would he let Ignis down gently?  
  
“Iggy?”  
  
“Yes.” Ignis shakes himself and steps aside, allowing Gladio entry. His hand trembles as he grasps the knob to close the door behind him. “I apologize.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it.”  
  
They stand in his entranceway, looking at each other like two strangers forced to interact at a networking event. Ignis folds his arms defensively over his chest. Slowly, Gladio runs a hand through his hair, slicking it back off his face. It’s simply unfair that one man can look so good, even when soaked from the driving rain.  
  
“So, uh…” Gladio says. This is followed by another awkward, interminable pause. Ignis waits for him to continue, his guts churning. “I got the box of macarons you brought over.”  
  
Ignis tries to swallow the lump in his throat. “Oh?”  
  
“And, uh…the note you wrote.”  
  
“Ah,” Ignis says, nodding mechanically.  
  
“Is that why you’ve been giving me all those pastries?”  
  
“Yes,” Ignis admits. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”  
  
It’s Gladio’s turn to nod. He runs his hand through his hair again, dragging his lower lip between his teeth. He can’t seem to meet Ignis's eyes. “I get it. Totally. I mean, I’ve wanted you for ages and never had the balls to say it.”  
  
Ignis blinks. _I’ve wanted you for ages._ Did he hear that correctly?   
  
“You what?” he breathes.  
  
Gladio finally looks at him, no less vulnerable despite the courage Ignis now sees in his eyes. “I think about you all the time, Iggy.”  
  
Just like that, the anxious churning in Ignis's guts becomes a flutter of anticipation, and he can’t help letting out a soft, giddy chuckle. All his worrying was for nothing, because Gladio returns his feelings. Gladio wants him. The information is liberating.   
  
“I just wish you’d said something sooner.” Gladio takes Ignis's hand, gently, his eyes searching Ignis's face as if for permission. “We’ve been dancing around each other long enough, don’t you think?”  
  
“Yes, I think we have,” Ignis says softly, letting Gladio draw him closer.  
  
Gladio’s arms go around his waist, and Ignis presses himself closer, burying his hands in Gladio’s hair. He can hardly believe they’re holding each other. Gladio still smells the way he did when they ran into each other this morning—of sweat and cedar aftershave, only now it is blended with the earthiness of fresh rain.  
  
And when their lips meet, the softness of Gladio’s mouth is sweeter than anything Ignis has yet tasted.


End file.
